


but I can't get warm without your hand to hold

by sabinelagrande



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Basically everyone is very possessive of everyone else, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Claiming, Hand Feeding, Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Aziraphale (Good Omens), Possessive Aziraphale (Good Omens), Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 05:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20809184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: Crowley thinks the whole heat thing is a rumor. The whole heat thing is not a rumor.





	but I can't get warm without your hand to hold

**Author's Note:**

> Content note: This story contains unnegotiated somnophilia. The recipient is totally okay with it, but be advised.

The days are getting shorter, the nights colder, but Aziraphale isn't thinking about the weather. In fairness, he dresses like it's late fall all the time, but that's not why he's not thinking about it. There are larger cycles than the weather; the seasons will happen as they usually do, and Aziraphale has nothing to do with them.

The cycle Aziraphale is worried about, he has absolutely no excuse for not planning for thoroughly, despite the fact he's done nothing. His current plan is to throw himself on Crowley's tender mercies; his backup plan is, well, there's no actual backup plan. It's mostly just to get out of London as fast as possible and potentially not come back.

Aziraphale and Crowley see each other all the time, basically every day, but Aziraphale has specifically called him to the bookshop. Crowley is sitting on the sofa while Aziraphale paces, Crowley's eyes tracking him visibly without the sunglasses he's already taken off.

"Gonna tell me what this is about, then?" Crowley asks. He doesn't sound upset, just confused, but Aziraphale reads upset into his voice anyway.

Aziraphale finally forces himself to stop pacing, standing in front of Crowley but at a wide distance. "I am aware that there is certain information going around concerning incorporated angels and the breeding habits thereof," he says.

"What, the going into heat thing?" Crowley says.

"Precisely," Aziraphale says, glad at least some of the work is done; it's a lot to explain. Crowley had already Fallen before any of this began, not that the Fallen remember much of what it was like to be angels.

"Don't worry, angel," Crowley says. "I'd never believe something like that."

"Oh?" Aziraphale says, and it comes out sort of high pitched.

"You don't know half the shit they say downstairs about angels," Crowley says dismissively. "Always going on about it. Farts that smell like candy floss, et cetera."

"What if I told you it was true?" Aziraphale says. "Not the bit about the candy floss. The other thing."

Crowley just stares at him for a moment like he's waiting for the punchline.

"Seriously?" Crowley says finally.

"Yes," Aziraphale says.

"Well fuck me running," Crowley says. "Do you, um-"

Aziraphale sighs. "Go on and ask."

"They say that some of the angels pitch and some of them catch," Crowley says, in a way that he probably thinks is tactful.

"Take a wild guess, Crowley," Aziraphale says, a little annoyed.

"Yeah, fair," Crowley says to his resident power bottom. "So all of the angels?"

"It only happens if you're corporeal, it's not some Heavenly orgy," Aziraphale says. "It's where the nephilim came from," His face scrunches up. "Or it's a punishment for the nephilim. Or the word 'nephilim' is meant to refer to the Fallen and not that very unfortunate business with the giants."

"I never was clear on that either," Crowley says. "The giants were unfortunate, poor buggers."

"The point is that it's true," Aziraphale says. "Angels do have this sort of thing happen to them, and it's time."

Crowley frowns. "What, do you mean now?"

"In the next day, or sooner," Aziraphale says, kicking himself for delaying all of this for so long. "It doesn't follow any calendar I know of, but it is very regular."

"How long's it been?" Crowley asks.

"Roughly five hundred and forty-six years," Aziraphale says.

"So soon you're going to-" Crowley says.

"Be taken by sudden lust and make a complete spectacle of myself?" Aziraphale says with a sigh. "Yes."

"And you're telling me about this because-" Crowley says.

"I'm sure you can connect the dots," Aziraphale says unhappily.

Crowley stalks over to him, hips swinging in a way Aziraphale is, as always, powerless not to watch. "Pretty little angelic Aziraphale, so prim and proper," Crowley says, hooking a finger into the bow of Aziraphale's tie. "Who wouldn't want to see him go out of his mind with lust? Who could resist such a morsel?"

"I'm glad one of us is enjoying this," Aziraphale says, pursing his lips.

Crowley frowns, his shoulders drooping slightly. "Sorry, angel, I was going for a threatening but sexy thing there. I don't think it came across."

"Oh," Aziraphale says, surprised. "I thought you were making fun of me."

"I only make fun of you when you can take it," Crowley says. "If you're really upset-"

Aziraphale raises a hand. "Let's just take this from the top."

"If you want to see this through, I'm your demon," Crowley says. "I'll fuck you until my dick falls off, if that's what it takes."

"Are you certain?" Aziraphale says. "I don't recall this ever being fun."

Crowley looks distraught. "Angel, did somebody-"

"Attempts were made," Aziraphale says diplomatically. It sounds better that way, cleaner than hearing pounding on the door as he barricaded himself in, feeling the brush of Gabriel's hand as he made the most backhanded of offers to 'help'. "They were all unsuccessful."

Crowley gently takes Aziraphale's hand, pressing it to his heart. "Tell me to fuck off if you need me to fuck off," Crowley says. "We'll make another plan."

"I- I wouldn't fight back if it were you," Aziraphale says, the words almost impossible to get out. "I dare say I would welcome you in."

"Are you sure about that?" Crowley says.

"Oh, dearest," Aziraphale says, his heart melting a little. "If anyone in all of Creation were right for me, it's you."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Crowley says. He looks around at the bookshop. "Do you want to do this here, or do you want to go back to mine?"

"While your place is easier to clean, I need to-" Aziraphale stops, thinking. "I need to be among my own things, if that makes sense."

"In your nest," Crowley says.

"Yes, precisely," Aziraphale says, relieved to be understood.

"If you want to roost, then we'll roost here," Crowley says. "How does it sort of kick off?"

"I'll start having hot flashes, then all at once it just-" Aziraphale makes a motion with his hands- "starts."

"Then you're out for the duration," Crowley says. "Or else very in."

"I won't be able to do miracles once it starts," Aziraphale warns him. "That includes changing my corporation."

"That's why you've got me around," Crowley says. "Can you give me a few hours to get ready, or is it time now?"

"I suppose I can," Aziraphale says, confused.

Crowley presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Right back, angel. You won't even know I'm gone."

Crowley proceeds to leave, and Aziraphale is left there, not quite sure what to do. He goes upstairs, to the little flat that exists whenever the building inspector isn't around. There's a small kitchen with a table, his bed in the room beyond. All of it is quite untidy, and he uses his miracles while he can, putting the dishes back in the cupboard, making the bed and turning down the covers. While he's thinking about it, he removes the duvet, which had been a gift and does not need to get stained; he also moves his to-be-read pile to a shelf, because it is in order, thank you, and he does not need it kicked over in the throes of passion.

All of this takes maybe thirty minutes, then Aziraphale sits down with a cup of tea and worries for another two hours, interspersed with a nagging feeling of heat that is making him sweat into his clothing, a thing that he basically never does.

It's a great relief when he hears the front door to the shop open, then Crowley stomping up the stairs. Said demon comes in with two brown paper sacks, holding them both around the middle in the way that Aziraphale keeps telling him will make all the contents break through and land on the floor.

"Left a sign on the front door that you're closed for a holiday," Crowley says, kicking the door shut despite the fact that he easily could have closed it with a thought. "Also got you some things."

"Like what?" Aziraphale asks.

"Mostly snacks," Crowley says. "Some stuff to deal with the hot flashes." He puts the bags down, pulling out a luridly pink dildo; it wobbles disconcertingly in his hand. "Also got one of these."

"What on earth for?" Aziraphale asks.

"Just in case the spirit is willing and the flesh is weak," Crowley says.

"I don't think it works like that," Aziraphale says, though he doesn't actually know.

"How are we doing on time?" Crowley asks.

"It won't be long, I'm afraid," Aziraphale says.

"Can you feel it coming on?" Crowley says.

Aziraphale pulls his collar away from his neck. "Mostly I feel hot all over."

"Easy enough," Crowley says. He snaps, and Aziraphale's clothing appears in the next room. Aziraphale himself is now wearing a black robe made of some soft, flimsy, expensive-feeling material. 

"I have to admit that helped," Aziraphale says. 

Crowley reaches into one of his bags and pulls out a white pouch; he crushes it in his hands, kneading it without opening it. "Here, stand up and turn around," Crowley says, taking Aziraphale's elbow to guide him. Aziraphale feels his fingers like fire through the robe, but the touch is gone as quickly as it came. 

Aziraphale shivers all over when Crowley touches the cold pack to his neck. "Oh," he sighs. "Oh sweet mercy, that feels amazing."

"Just hold that there for a minute," Crowley says. He moves to stand in front of Aziraphale, fanning him with the nearest object that seems like you can fan someone with it, which is, inexplicably, a wall calendar from 1971. "Any better?"

"You know, I think it is," Aziraphale says. "A little bit of respite, at least."

"We'll get through this, angel," Crowley assures him, and it does something to Aziraphale, that he can sound so sure.

"Perhaps it won't be so bad this time," Aziraphale says hopefully. "I've never tried any interventions of this sort."

"What have you tried?" Crowley asks, sounding curious more than anything.

"Ah," Aziraphale says. "A lot of masturbation, mostly."

"Does that work?" Crowley says.

Aziraphale looks for a good way to explain it. "It's like throwing teacups full of water into a fireplace," he says. "You think if you just did it quickly and thoroughly enough, you might be a success, but it doesn't actually work that way."

"That sounds like torture," Crowley says, wincing.

"It is," Aziraphale says. "I have it on good authority that actual intercourse makes things much more pleasant."

"One hopes," Crowley says. "We'll give it a good try anyway." They're just looking at each other for a moment. "So, what do we do now?"

Aziraphale sits down, still holding the ice pack. "I don't know."

"I guess we could try foreplay, if you wanted," Crowley says.

Crowley doesn't know, but is going to discover in short order, that Aziraphale is already slick under his robe; he chose a penis for this particular endeavor, for various reasons, and he somehow couldn't keep himself from opening up, his body demanding to be filled. "I think that's quite unnecessary."

"Since when does foreplay have to be necessary to be fun?" Crowley says.

"I think I just want to sit here for a moment longer," Aziraphale says. Crowley frowns, but he doesn't press it. 

Aziraphale doesn't know why he doesn't want Crowley to touch him; this is a lie Aziraphale is telling himself. It's actually because he's scared and doesn't know how to express that. He's never let himself do this before with another person. It feels like the first time he had sex only much bigger; he's going to give himself to Crowley completely, lose himself entirely, and he's still trying to process that.

Surely it will be fine. Surely Crowley is just going to help him and not hurt him. He knows these things are almost certainly factually correct, but making himself believe them is an entirely different issue.

He's losing his grip on all of it very quickly, his mind ticking over into something more primal. He doesn't have long; he doesn't know whether he wants to stretch out the time beforehand or just jump now.

"I need a glass of water," Aziraphale says, standing up before Crowley can offer to do it for him. Aziraphale sways on his feet, and Crowley reaches out to steady him. Aziraphale makes an involuntary noise; Crowley's hands feel like they're burning his skin, but something about it feels so good, like Aziraphale wants to be scorched.

"Alright there?" Crowley asks. "You look flushed. Good look on you, actually, does nice things for your complexion, but you look like you've just run a mile."

"It's here," Aziraphale admits. "We have to- I don't know if I can wait."

Crowley is guiding him towards the bedroom, and Aziraphale realizes that and does nothing to stop it. His head is spinning, and every touch of Crowley's hands drives his need sharply upwards and upwards until Aziraphale breaks.

"Take me," Aziraphale begs, and he doesn't recognize the sound of his own voice. "Oh, Crowley, please take me, I can't bear it for another instant, I have to feel you inside me."

"Don't worry, angel," Crowley says, backing him up onto the bed; Aziraphale scrambles ungracefully backwards so he can lay himself out for Crowley. Crowley crawls in after him, his clothes disappearing, along with the robe he put Aziraphale in. He eases Aziraphale's legs apart, getting in between them. "Sure this is what you want?"

"Don't tease me," Aziraphale says. "Please do it, please." He's babbling and he can't stop it. "Please, I'll do anything-"

"Shh," Crowley says, his hand on Aziraphale's knee. "Just calm down, dear. Let me handle this."

Aziraphale feels on the verge of crying, but then Crowley is pushing inside of him. It's so satisfying that he doesn't know what to do with it, quenching the fire that's been tormenting him. Aziraphale goes limp on the bed, feeling like he's been made whole all at once, something clicking into place.

"Like that?" Crowley says.

"Yes," Aziraphale says. "Oh, darling."

Crowley moves slowly, and Aziraphale luxuriates in it, the smooth, effortless glide of it. Aziraphale wonders why he never did this before, but he knows it would not be like this with someone who wasn't Crowley. He loves Crowley, overwhelmingly, overridingly so, and so it seems right and good that Crowley should be the one to do this to him.

"Are you okay?" Crowley asks, breathing heavily. "You look like you're on ecstasy."

"Love," Aziraphale sighs. He runs his hands up Crowley's arms. "Your skin is so smooth."

"So it is like ecstasy," Crowley says.

"I feel ecstatic," Aziraphale says. He pulls Crowley down, kissing him as Crowley rocks in and out of him.

"You feel like you're burning up," Crowley says. "But, y'know, in a good way."

Aziraphale doesn't respond except to hum, too occupied with thrusting his hips up against Crowley's, trying to take him as deep as he can. Every press of his body sates something in Aziraphale that he can't put a word to; he's not sure there's a word to be put to it.

"I'm so glad I waited for you," Aziraphale says. He meant it to be sweet, but Crowley looks angry for some reason.

"Nobody ever should have tried," Crowley says, and the firmness in his tone makes Aziraphale shiver. "Nobody hurts my angel and gets away with it."

"I'm not hurt," Aziraphale says. "I'm fine, dearest."

"If I get my hands on any of them, they'll beg for hellfire," Crowley growls. "You're nobody's but mine."

"Oh," Aziraphale breathes.

Crowley draws his hands back, looking like he's only just noticed what he said. "Sorry, angel, I-"

"Keep going," Aziraphale says, his voice only wavering a little.

He can see Crowley's realization that he's found a button to push, a thing it is always dangerous to give Crowley. "I dare anyone to lay a finger on you," Crowley says, a hand on Aziraphale's thigh to hitch it up, the other braced on the bed so he can lean over Aziraphale. "You're mine entirely. Nobody else gets to have you."

"Crowley," Aziraphale sighs. "Yes, love, I'm all yours."

"My sweet angel," Crowley says, kissing his forehead, the side of his face. "My property."

Aziraphale's back arches. Somehow that's the hottest thing anyone has ever said to him, all the implications of it, and he knows Crowley _means_ it, has always staked his claim over Aziraphale in a million ways. He doesn't even know if Crowley always knows he's doing it, the way "our side" sounds like "me and mine" when Crowley says it. He has no idea if Crowley even knows he says it like that; he probably thinks he's subtle.

"More," Aziraphale says, and he isn't even sure what he's asking for more of, except everything.

Crowley certainly gives it to him, fucking him hard and fast. Aziraphale feels all of it like it's been amplified tenfold, every thrust like it's going straight to the core of him. It's never felt like this before; Aziraphale didn't know it could even feel like this.

Aziraphale digs his fingernails into Crowley's back hard enough that Crowley hisses, but it's not enough to stop either of them. Aziraphale can feel his orgasm building, the tension in him ratcheting up and up and up. Crowley is panting heavily, clutching at the sheets next to Aziraphale's head as he thrusts, deeper and faster. Aziraphale wants to say something, give some encouragement, but his words are gone, his body reduced to nothing but need.

Aziraphale shouts when he comes, his cock shooting untouched onto his stomach, making a mess of himself. Crowley makes a noise like he's completely wrecked, undone, and Aziraphale feels it as he spills into Aziraphale. Aziraphale moans thinking about it, about Crowley inside of him, leaving a piece of himself with Aziraphale.

"Jesus fuck," Crowley pants, still looking down at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale turns, kissing his wrist where it's still braced next to his head. "That was wonderful, my darling," he says, finding words again.

"Oof," Crowley says.

He's clearly going to be no help, so Aziraphale guides the two of them onto their sides, getting a bit more comfortable. "Thank you, dear," Aziraphale says.

"Do you, ah," Crowley says, scratching the back of his neck. "Do you usually like the bit with the claiming, or is that from this heat business?"

"I never thought about it before," Aziraphale says honestly. "I am yours, darling, and you are mine. You know that. It just-" He stops, pondering his words. "Expressing that emphatically felt extremely good in the moment."

"I'll say it again if you need me to," Crowley says, kissing his forehead with surprising chasteness. "You're mine, so don't get any big ideas about getting away."

"I have no intention of turning you loose," Aziraphale says. "At the very least, not for the next few days."

Crowley frowns. "Is it going to be like that every time?"

"I don't know," Aziraphale says. "But I would not be surprised."

"You're going to discorporate me," Crowley says. "I'm just going to go poof."

"I have no doubt that you're up to the challenge," Aziraphale says, kissing him. "But perhaps a brief rest before the next time."

"I could go for that," Crowley says.

That is the first time, but it doesn't stop happening. Aziraphale feels quite normal for another few hours, though he seems to feel rather more snuggly than he usually does. Then the heat sparks in him again, and nothing will put out the fire but Crowley inside of him. Crowley works valiantly to fight it, leaving them both wrung out and satisfied, until it happens all over again.

But eventually, Aziraphale does end up trying the dildo.

Crowley, as is not unlike him, has fallen asleep. He gave Aziraphale a thorough seeing-to, and upon completion, he passed out. It's not like Aziraphale can blame him; from what he can tell, this must be day two or three, and Crowley likes his little naps. It's just that he's been asleep for some time, and Aziraphale is feeling the heat spike, the way it makes him want to crawl out of his own skin.

Aziraphale really wants to wake him up, but he spies the dildo, discarded on an end table. Maybe he can take care of himself and let poor Crowley get the rest he deserves. He carefully climbs off the bed, picking up the dildo and weighing it in his hand. It's not quite as big as Crowley's usual corporation, not that Crowley couldn't give himself the world's biggest dick if he so chose. It seems rather straightforward though: Aziraphale needs something inside him, and this will fit neatly. Problem solved.

Aziraphale climbs back on the bed, willing to potentially wake Crowley up doing this, and tries to find a good position. It seems to make more sense to lay on his side and push from the back, so he tries that. Getting the dildo in is not a terribly difficult exercise; he's still slick, and he pushes it inside and waits for the feeling to kick in.

It feels like being offered a piece of delectable candy and then only eating the wrapper.

A few frustrating minutes later, he wipes it off with a nearby tissue and drops it on the floor. Useless. It's particularly frustrating because Crowley still hasn't woken up, and he looks delicious. His cock is hard, visible through the sheet that's covering him; Aziraphale knows this is part of the physiology of sleep and a completely uncontrollable occurrence. It's one of the reasons he himself doesn't sleep, finding the whole matter a bit distasteful.

"Crowley, dear," Aziraphale says, trying to sound sweet and not desperate. "Crowley, sweetheart, please wake up."

Crowley does nothing of the sort, and now Aziraphale is panicking, the feeling of the heat prickling at the back of his head, his skin feeling hot and stretched thin. He needs it so much, and Crowley is just lying there asleep, a complete waste and an utter temptation.

"Crowley," Aziraphale says more urgently, shaking him, but Crowley just mutters in his sleep and turns his head to the side.

Aziraphale is faced with a choice, and he makes it.

He reaches under the sheets, wrapping his hand around Crowley's cock. He thinks he's woken Crowley up for a moment, but his eyes don't open. Aziraphale strokes it a few times, waiting for Crowley's reaction, hoping Crowley will wake up and keep Aziraphale from having to do this.

Because he'd say yes, wouldn't he? He'd say something like, "Ooh, angel, that's the trick," and then he'd fuck Aziraphale into the mattress. That's all Aziraphale needs from him, and surely taking it would just feed Crowley's fantasies of being irresistable.

Aziraphale swings a leg over Crowley's hips, his need taking over entirely, controlling his every action. He groans as he takes Crowley inside of him; he's too far gone to make it slow, to try to ease Crowley into this. If Crowley wakes up, he's going to catch Aziraphale going full bore. Aziraphale stuffs his fist into his mouth, trying not to moan too loudly, because maybe Crowley doesn't need to know about this at all. Maybe Aziraphale can finish quickly and act like nothing happened. He has no idea if that's ethical or not, because his sense of ethics went out the window some days ago.

"Angel?" Crowley says blearily, his hands finding Aziraphale's hips. Aziraphale's heart breaks in the time before Crowley says, "Yeah, just like that, take what you need, sweetheart."

"You're not mad?" Aziraphale pants, unable to stop moving for long enough to talk, taking Crowley's dick deep on every stroke.

"Course not," Crowley says. "I knew the risks when I took the job." He smirks, putting his hands behind his head. "But since you woke me up, I think it's only fair if you do all the work."

"You beast," Aziraphale says, and Crowley grins. Aziraphale braces himself with one arm on Crowley's chest; he finds it impossible to move slow, but impossibly good to move fast. He just feels so good with Crowley inside him, better than he can remember anything feeling. He wants to do this for the rest of eternity, because eternity doesn't seem scary at all when Crowley is inside him.

It has never seemed scary to face eternity with Crowley, but that's a side issue.

"You don't know how hot you look, dear," Crowley says, clearly enjoying himself.

"I look a mess," Aziraphale says, and if he wasn't already flushed he might just be blushing.

"Mmm, in the best possible way," Crowley says. "You fucking yourself on my cock is a sight worth waking up for."

Aziraphale feels infinitely better than he did a few minutes ago, between the heat abating and Crowley enjoying himself. It feels so desperately satisfying to ride his cock, just take it into him over and over again, until he's all but bouncing on it, Crowley thrusting up to meet him. Crowley, despite his words, wraps his hands around Aziraphale's hips, guiding him as they move, keeping them in sync.

"That's it, angel," Crowley says. "Fuck, that's it, come on, come for me."

Crowley gets a hand around Aziraphale's cock, and Aziraphale goes off almost immediately, coming all over Crowley. Crowley, for reasons that mystify Aziraphale, laughs as he follows, spreading warmth into Aziraphale. He has such a fond expression on his face that Aziraphale feels it heavy in his belly, too much and so perfect.

Aziraphale eventually climbs off him, sitting next to Crowley, who's got his hands behind his head again. "I'm so sorry that I didn't ask," Aziraphale says, nervous again now that the high has passed. "I never should have done that."

"I really don't mind," Crowley says, a gentle hand on Aziraphale's hip. "I thought it was hot." Aziraphale's face must betray that he doesn't buy it, so Crowley leans up and kisses him. "It's really okay, angel. I gave you myself so you could get through this. No matter how you need to take me, I'm yours."

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale says, and he kisses Crowley to hide the tears that are pricking the corners of his eyes. He's not sure anyone else would have ever said something like that; he's not sure anyone else would have understood what he needed so completely. Certainly Gabriel wouldn't have, nor any other angel who approached him. At best they'd have said it was all to glorify God; he would have been nothing but a hot, wet place to use, a convenience and not a thinking, vulnerable, scared being.

Aziraphale doesn't feel scared of Crowley at all. He hasn't in the longest time.

"I'm going to do something lovely for you after this," Aziraphale promises.

"Nah," Crowley says, pulling Aziraphale down with him. "I'm fine." This does not convince Aziraphale, who plans anyway.

It's the next day when Aziraphale has a thought. He's starting to feel worn out, and Crowley looks rather the worse for wear. This can only go on for so much longer; Aziraphale doesn't know how much, having no point of reference.

"I have an idea, and I don't know if you'll like it," Aziraphale says.

"Okay," Crowley says warily.

"It's just that, ah, it's best when you're inside me, you know," Aziraphale says. "If you could stay inside me for longer, that would probably get us further."

"I don't think you're wrong," Crowley says, "but what goes up must come down. Or is this a tantric thing? Because I've tried that and it's extremely unsatisfying."

"What if you made some-" Aziraphale waves his hand at Crowley's crotchal region. "Adjustments to your equipment."

"What?" Crowley says.

"You know, like," Aziraphale says, sketching a shape in the air. "Like, you know, when mating animals, they sort of-" Aziraphale brings his hands together.

"Like a knot?" Crowley says, looking deeply skeptical.

"Yes, exactly," Aziraphale says. "Then you could just kind of-" He makes another unhelpful hand gesture.

"Stay put," Crowley provides.

"Precisely," Aziraphale says. "I, ah, don't really know if it would work with human forms, but some people write quite compellingly on the subject."

"I knew you hid the trashy stuff from me, but I didn't know it was werewolf porn," Crowley says gleefully.

"Could we have circumvented this whole conversation if I'd just asked you to do it werewolf style?" Aziraphale says, sighing.

"I wouldn't have had the first clue what you meant," Crowley says. "But we can try that. Might give us both a bit of a break." He looks contemplative. "How does it fit in with a big lump on one end?"

"In the literature, it goes in smooth and the knot swells once inserted," Aziraphale says, feeling just a tiny bit of despair that his life has come to this.

"Yeah, okay, that makes more sense," Crowley says. "I thought you were describing punchfucking."

"I command you never to tell me what that word means," Aziraphale says.

"Eh, I think it's apocryphal anyway," Crowley says. "Do you want me to go off and have a try, or do you want to wing it?"

A bead of sweat trickles down the back of Aziraphale's neck. "I think we're just going to have to do it as we go," he says. "I'm too close."

Crowley pushes him down onto the bed, climbing on top of him. By this point there's no pretense, Aziraphale's thighs falling open for him. Crowley's cock presses into him with little resistance, given how wet he is; Crowley keeps cleaning him up, but it seems like the only miracle Aziraphale can manage right now is preparing himself, and it happens without his conscious help.

Maybe it's the anticipation, but it seems to go quicker this time, Crowley fucking him quick and hard. Aziraphale can't stop thinking about what it's going to feel like, his body interlocked with Crowley's. It might be terrible and over immediately, but it sounds so appealing, Crowley holding onto him like that.

It's not long before Aziraphale is coming, his own hand working on his cock as Crowley pushes into him deep, letting go inside him. Crowley keeps going, slowing down a bit but still moving, his cock not going soft just yet.

"Tell me when you're ready, darling," Crowley says, kissing his neck. "I'm gonna make you take everything I've got to give you, angel."

"Oh yes," Aziraphale says. His head falls back. "Now, dearest."

"There's no turning back if I do this," Crowley says. "Once I take you like this, you're mine. _My_ angel. _My_ pet. No one ever gets this but me."

Aziraphale has been entirely Crowley's for ages, but in the moment it feels true, like Crowley is staking his claim in a very primal way. "Yes," Aziraphale gasps. "Yes, please, let me have your knot, let me be yours."

"Never anyone else's," Crowley says firmly.

"Yours utterly," Aziraphale says. "Oh, Crowley, I need you so badly, please do it for me, please fill me."

The pressure inside him from Crowley's cock starts to increase, and Aziraphale can feel it as it inflates. It seems to keep going, pressing against him until it's almost too much, but then it stops, the feeling leveling off as his body accepts it.

"Alright, angel?" Crowley says. He shifts his hips a fraction, like he's getting used to the sensation too. The movement makes the knot press hard on Aziraphale's prostate, and Aziraphale's eyes roll back in his head.

"My goodness," Aziraphale pants, when he recovers.

"Is that how you wanted it?" Crowley asks.

Aziraphale moves experimentally, biting his lip. "I don't know about you, but I find it quite stimulating."

"That's a way to put it," Crowley says.

"How long can you stay like this?" Aziraphale asks.

"I have no idea," Crowley says. "I'm making it up as I go, so probably until one of us is too sore to go on." He looks down at the two of them. "Do your dirty books say how you're supposed to situate yourselves? If we stay like this, my back and your legs aren't going to like it."

"I think I can lower my legs without any trouble," Aziraphale says, unwrapping himself from around Crowley. "I think perhaps if you just wanted to sort of drape yourself over me, I would be okay with that." He has no idea why that's the part that's making him feel bashful, but it's there anyway.

"Are you sure?" Crowley asks. "I don't want to crush you."

"You weigh ten pounds dripping wet," Aziraphale says. "It feels quite nice to have you stretched on top of me."

"So kind of like-" Crowley says, and somewhat skeptically he arranges himself on top of Aziraphale.

"Not like that at all," Aziraphale says, because he's dying on this hill now. "I need you to bring your snake skills to bear. Pretend I'm a nice rock to sun on."

"You're ridiculous," Crowley says, but he does adjust into a much more comfortable position, curling around Aziraphale instead of just laying on him.

"See, isn't that nice?" Aziraphale says, stroking Crowley's hair.

"It's not so bad," Crowley says. "Sure you don't feel crushed?"

"Not in the slightest," Aziraphale says. "I could stay here quite some time like this. Are you comfortable?"

"Mmm," Crowley says. "Just don't let me fall asleep. That could end poorly."

"You're almost impossible to rouse," Aziraphale says.

"Oh, you'd find a way," Crowley says.

They settle into silence; it feels nice, comforting. Aziraphale was correct that it would keep the heat back, because he still has that feeling of rightness, completeness that comes from Crowley inside him. The knot is pressing against him, shifting minutely as the two of them move, but it doesn't feel urgent, not as much as it could. Just to see what will happen, he squeezes down on it.

"I'm awake!" Crowley yelps.

"Sorry," Aziraphale says, when he's through gasping. "That wasn't quite what I was expecting."

"What else would you have expected?" Crowley says.

"None of this is quite expected," Aziraphale says. "I didn't think it through."

"Eh," Crowley says. "We're making it up as we go along. I'll forgive it this once."

"How kind of you," Aziraphale says dryly.

"Kind isn't quite my style," Crowley says.

"I'm sure you think that," Aziraphale says, and Crowley rolls his eyes, moving his hips just to shut Aziraphale up.

It's good like this, calming; Aziraphale feels like he could stay here forever, he and Crowley made into one thing. He was afraid it was going to feel different, threatening maybe, painful, but it still feels amazing to have Crowley inside of him. It feels right, like that's where Crowley belongs, wholly Aziraphale's.

Aziraphale's body begins complaining after a while, but he tries not to let it show. Crowley will stop if he thinks he's hurting Aziraphale, and Aziraphale won't be able to convince him that pain is okay if he's getting what he really really wants, despite the fact that that's how Crowley feels himself. Aziraphale wants to cling to this, to get as much as he can.

"I can't hold this much longer," Crowley says eventually.

Aziraphale is disappointed, but the physical part of him is relieved. "Stop when you need to," he says, stroking Crowley's hair. "I've got you."

Crowley takes a deep breath, letting it out, and Aziraphale feels the knot shrinking, the pressure inside him easing. Crowley pulls out of him carefully; there's a rush of wetness as he does it, trickling down Aziraphale's thighs in a way that feels physically disgusting and mentally appealing at the same time.

Crowley flops over onto his back. "Holy shit, angel," he says.

Aziraphale reaches for his hand, lacing their fingers together. "That was incredible."

"Incredible is not a strong enough word," Crowley says. "That was astounding."

Aziraphale kisses the back of Crowley's hand. "Thank you for indulging me, dear. I do think it helped."

"Do we, y'know, have to wait another five hundred years to do that?" Crowley asks, trying to sound smooth but not getting there at all.

"Oh, I should say not," Aziraphale says. "I don't think I'd be able to walk if we did that all the time, but perhaps as a treat now and again."

"Sounds good to me," Crowley says.

Aziraphale yawns. "Sorry," he says halfway through it.

"Are you actually getting sleepy?" Crowley asks.

"I'm sleepy sometimes," Aziraphale says. "I just don't sleep. There's a difference."

"Sleeping's great," Crowley says, turning towards him and putting a hand on Aziraphale's stomach. "You should try it."

Aziraphale yawns again. "I'll be fine in a few minutes."

"That's no way to rest," Crowley says, and there's something of a hiss in his tone, like there is when he's really trying to tempt Aziraphale.

"Why do you want me to sleep?" Aziraphale says.

Crowley runs a hand over his hair. "Because you seem exhausted, love," he says. "You look like death warmed over."

"That's not very nice," Aziraphale says, his words slurring a bit.

"That's it, just shut those eyes," Crowley says, and Aziraphale finds himself doing it, his eyelids suddenly too heavy to keep open. "I'll be right here, dearest."

Everything is black behind Aziraphale's eyelids, and then there's nothing for a while.

\--

Aziraphale wakes up to soft light streaming into the room, the room's ancient curtains doing little to curtail what looks like morning sun.

He's not alone, though he is alone in bed; Crowley is sitting in the armchair, doing something on his phone. He's probably playing some mindless game, knowing him, or conspiring to bring down a server somewhere, which Crowley informs him can be quite an evil or quite a good act.

"Good morning," Aziraphale says blearily.

"It's two in the afternoon," Crowley says. "But hello."

Aziraphale sits up, feeling sore and loose-limbed. "How long have I been asleep?"

"About thirty-six hours," Crowley says.

"That seems like a lot," Aziraphale says.

"You're barely getting started by that point," Crowley says, which is of course exactly the opinion you'd expect from someone who once slept for most of a century.

"I do feel refreshed," Aziraphale says. "Perhaps this sleeping business is not so bad."

It occurs to Aziraphale that he is not hard, as Crowley often is on waking; he lifts the sheet, looking down at himself. He is not only not hard, he is not in possession of a penis at all.

"Oh, thank goodness," Aziraphale sighs.

"Huh?" Crowley says.

"I changed," Aziraphale says, throwing off the sheet; he is dressed as he was when he passed out, not wearing a stitch of clothing, and Aziraphale's lack of any genitals is quite easy to see. "It means I'm done."

"Yeah, I suspected you might be," Crowley says. "Never would have slept so long otherwise."

Crowley is somehow hovering without leaving his chair, and in a rare flash of awareness, Aziraphale wonders how he's feeling, if Crowley might feel a bit useless without Aziraphale to tend to, at loose ends.

"I am famished, however," Aziraphale says.

"I brought snacks," Crowley says, stepping into action. He goes into the kitchen, and Aziraphale hears the rustling of sacks and the opening of packages. In short order, Crowley comes back with a plate of biscuits and some fruit. "Here we are."

Crowley is just holding the plate out to Aziraphale, and that won't do. "Come here, dear," Aziraphale says, patting the bed next to him. Crowley hands Aziraphale the plate and sits down next to him. Aziraphale puts his head on Crowley's shoulder, getting comfortable.

"Shall I feed you grapes?" Crowley asks wryly.

"Oh, I haven't been fed grapes in ages," Aziraphale says; Crowley was probably being sarcastic, but it actually sounds lovely.

Crowley plucks one of the grapes off of the bunch, and Aziraphale lets him pop it into his mouth. "Mmm," Aziraphale says. "These certainly taste fresh, given how long we've been at this."

"Didn't give them the option of wilting," Crowley says. "Another?"

"Yes, please," Aziraphale says, opening his mouth. Crowley feeds him another, and it crunches pleasantly between his teeth, crisp and juicy.

Crowley feeds him most of the grapes and a few biscuits, and Aziraphale happily accepts them. It feels nice to let Crowley take care of him, but Aziraphale always finds it nice. Crowley gets like that sometimes, like he needs to prove his worth; Aziraphale lets him do it, even though he already knows that Crowley is worthy.

Crowley finally puts the plate aside, his hand coming up to stroke Aziraphale's hair. "How do you feel?" he asks.

"Sore but pleased," Aziraphale says, which is the honest answer. "I suspect I will remain sore for some time. All that did a number on me."

"My back will never be the same," Crowley says. "Was it what you needed?"

Crowley sounds deeply worried; to anyone else, Crowley might sound nonchalant, but Aziraphale's had six thousand years to pick apart every tone of Crowley's voice, of which there are many. "It was a lovely experience," Aziraphale says. "You took such good care of me. I always hated it before, but I actually had a pleasant time."

Crowley sighs. "That's- I'm glad, angel," he says.

Aziraphale's back twinges. "I think I'm perfectly fine with not doing it for another five hundred years, however," he says.

"Ugh," Crowley says. "Doing it more often doesn't even bear thinking about."

"I think perhaps a long soak is in order," Aziraphale says.

"Do you even have a bathtub?" Crowley asks.

"I do now," Aziraphale says, pulling away from him and getting out of bed, walking to the door of the bathroom he also now has. "There are even bath salts."

"Oh, well that's worth getting out of bed for," Crowley says, following him in, catching up so he can put an arm around Aziraphale's waist.

\--

In the atrium of Crowley's apartment, which somehow has an atrium despite being an apartment, his plants sit waiting, dreading Crowley's emergence. They can hear him speaking, along with the voice of Aziraphale, the one who sometimes goes behind Crowley's back to talk to them soothingly.

The door pivots open, and Crowley stalks in, staring all of them down. "You sure about this, angel?" he asks.

"I said I'd do something nice for you," Aziraphale says. "If you don't think it's nice, I'll find something else."

"Alright, go on then," Crowley says.

Aziraphale reaches into the air, drawing his hand down, and the plants are startled to find themselves blooming. Not all of them, not every stalk, but white and red flowers appear dotted around the room, tropical-looking ones with pronounced stamens. The plants are deeply confused, having never been flowering plants before, but something about it feels nice.

"They don't go with the aesthetic," Crowley says, rubbing his chin. "But they do brighten up the place. Nice effect, overall."

"Oh, I hoped you would think so," Aziraphale says, putting his arm around Crowley's. "They'll be ever so easy to take care of." Aziraphale gives the plants a look like that's an instruction and not an empty promise, but they're all too terrified to contradict him.

Crowley and Aziraphale admire the flowers for a little longer before leaving. The plants relax, thinking they've got some time to figure out this flower business before Crowley comes back, but almost as soon as the door has shut, it opens again, Crowley poking his head in.

"If I see _one_ of you drop a single petal, you know exactly what will happen," Crowley hisses.

The plants shiver.


End file.
